


Your Skin and Bones (Will Sink Like Stones)

by jacyevans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale's Past Consent Issues with Kate Argent, Gen, Hale Family Feels, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Underage, brief Derek/OMC and Derek/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans/pseuds/jacyevans
Summary: “You’re strong. You’re a werewolf. You’re a Hale,” Laura says like that’s the most important thing in the world. Derek takes a deep breath and the sense of pack settles deep into his bones.The years chronicling Derek and Laura's life, from the fire to Laura's death.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Laura Hale Appreciation Week 2020





	Your Skin and Bones (Will Sink Like Stones)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Your Bones" by Of Monsters and Men. Past Underage is related to Kate/Derek, but the acts themselves are not described in any detail, just Derek's trauma related to them. If you think I missed any warnings, please let me know so that I can add them to the tags.
> 
> This is a heavily edited version of an old fic I wrote, posted, and ended up deleting years ago. When I saw today's Laura Hale Appreciation Week theme was "The Missing Years," I knew it was time to dig it back out. This could also fit yesterday's theme of "Sibling Rivalry." It's now one of my favorite fics I've ever written. 
> 
> Thank you to redbelles for the speedy beta, without whom I would have used the word 'thrum' about 40 times in 5 paragraphs. If you're a person who likes mood music, I listened to [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/1bVVNrNczB8LckjWQ8RJCk?si=4_seQzULSRadU74tl47tvQ) on repeat the entire time I was writing.

The day of the fire, Laura drags Derek away from school, eyes wild like he’s never seen them before. The sight sends his pulse racing.

“Mom— the pack, we have to—”

Derek is out of the parking lot like a shot. Both of them run through the woods for home, stopping short at the sight of the house completely consumed by flames. The fire crackles and burns. Derek swears he can still hear screaming from the basement.

He takes a stumbling step forwards, but the crack of a gun at his back makes him turn. He stares down the barrel into Kate Argent’s laughing face.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, sickeningly sweet, and his stomach twists, throat closing up, rendering him completely unable to move.

Laura shoves him out of the way as the gun goes off, rolling to the side so the bullet goes wide. She skips the beta shift entirely, rips into wolf form with a growl, eyes blazing red - red like their mother’s, like the _alpha,_ and Derek’s lungs seize so he can’t breathe. Laura nudges at Derek’s legs, and he flees, shifting mid-motion. They run full-tilt through the trees, Laura at his side stinking of fear. His body pulses with the order to _run, run, run._

They don’t stop moving until the scent of smoke and burning timber fades. Laura throws back her head and howls, long, loud, and mournful. Derek follows, the full moon bright and mocking. His body is torn in a dozen different directions, a physical pain he can’t shake.

His family, his pack, is dead.

Derek is half-feral for a week, a wild thing growling at Laura when she gets too close. She drops to her knees at his side one night, cupping a hand under his chin. She grips him tighter when he growls. His fangs press into her hand.

“It’s time to change back,” she says, soft but with the rolling thrum of an order. He has no choice but to obey. She’s an alpha now, _his_ alpha.

Fangs and claws retreat, ears shrinking down to normal size, face shifting back to human.

“There you are, bunny teeth,” Laura teases; she gives him a sad smile. “I missed those eyebrows.”

Derek’s bottom lip trembles. Laura’s hand is the only thing tethering him to earth. Her heart beats steady in her chest, and her eyes glow red even while she cries. She tugs him close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispers. “I promise.” Derek clings tighter, wishing he could believe it.

—

They don’t stay in any one place for too long. They survive on the bare minimum of essentials, able to leave everything behind at a moment’s notice. Laura follows any news coming out of Beacon Hills. They find out Peter is still alive through a newspaper article, their cell phones long since stomped on and buried.

"We can’t go back,” Laura says before Derek even opens his mouth. “It's too dangerous.”

“So we - what? Leave Peter alone to die?”

“We don’t have a choice!” Laura shouts, slamming her laptop shut. “ _I_ don’t have a choice!”

Derek’s eyes widen. His sister has been nothing but the picture of composure since their family died. He couldn’t fully convince himself she was afraid, even though her fear is an ever-present scent on the air.

Her eyes fill with tears. Derek tugs her into his arms, resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, face pressed into the curve of her neck.

“Don’t do that.” She drags her fingers through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She gives him a trembling smile. “Not today anyway.”

She says the words in jest, not knowing how much they sting, how the guilt burns him up inside like the fire that destroyed their family, every minute of every day.

“You’re right. We should go back.” Laura shakes her head. “But Peter is in a coma. He isn’t healing. He might never wake up.” She grips the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “I want to keep you safe. I _need_ to keep you safe. And if I have to choose between sitting at Peter’s bedside and keeping you alive, I will choose you every single time.”

Derek shudders, not bothering to bite back his tears.

—

Laura arranges for payments of Peter’s long-term care to come directly out of her insurance fund. The fire is declared an accident, faulty wiring in the walls. Laura’s anger presses down against his chest, a slithering, palpable thing that seeps into his lungs. Derek removes himself from the room before he punches his fist through a wall.

The day the case is officially closed, Laura spends the entire night prowling behind the house they rented on the edge of town. She howls and whimpers until Derek curls himself around her body. He lays his head on her back, her fur soft and warm against his ear. They fall asleep under the light of the moon.

Laura withdraws the rest of her money; all of Derek’s, too. She leaves cash in PO boxes in half a dozen states, never uses a credit card or keeps a cell phone for more than a month. She insists on keeping their own names.

“We’ve already lost enough to the Argents,” she says, eyes flashing red as she signs her name on the lease to their new apartment with a flourish. “I am not losing _this.”_

Derek’s stomach churns, and he turns, rushing down the stairs into the street. He pulls in a lungful of fresh air. He hasn’t told Laura about Kate, how the fire is his fault, about his absolute stupidity for thinking that she cared, that she could be trusted, that she wasn’t like the rest of her family. Laura would never forgive him, but that doesn’t make much of a difference. He’ll never be able to forgive himself.

Laura enrolls him in the local high school, and he spends a month pretending to be normal. She gets a job at a pet shop, laughingly comparing Derek to the disobedient puppies.

He doesn’t respond. Laura sighs.

He keeps his head down and all but blends into the drywall. They cut their stay short when Laura catches the scent of hunters through their window - gunpowder, wolfsbane, the stench of adrenaline and satisfaction.

He glances down to find Chris Argent getting out of the car, his hand on the back of his daughter’s shoulder as he guides her into the apartment building. Kate sits in the back of Chris’ pick-up, twirling a silver knife between her fingers. They leave everything behind but the clothes on their backs, slip out in the middle of the night, and run as fast and as far as they can.

There are a few close calls, after that. Derek takes a taser blast to the side in Wyoming. Both of them are blown off course by the ear-splitting sounds of flash bombs in Ohio. Hunters dog their heels in Virginia; a shotgun fires, followed by Laura’s stunned cry.

Derek turns as the smell of blood rips through the night, Kate Argent’s laughter turning his veins to ice. He snarls as he takes her down, claws rending through the flesh of her thigh. He grabs her gun and nudges at Laura’s belly, pushing her forwards faster.

They don’t stop moving until the scent of gunpowder and stale adrenaline fades into wet earth and pine, the bitter scent of terror, and the fiery, copper scent of Laura’s blood. She drags herself under the shade of a tree, breath coming in sharp pants.

Derek scours the ground for dry wood and kindling. He sets a fire as fast as possible, hands shaking. Sweat beads across his brow, and he swallows down bile as the air fills with the choking scent of smoke. The wood sparks then catches, and Derek stokes the flames until he’s sure the fire won’t go out.

He unloads the bullets from the gun, cracking one open against a rock. The cloying scent of wolfsbane fills the air, and Laura growls, whimpering as Derek gets closer.

Her shoulder oozes black blood, veins dark with the spread of infection. Derek grits his teeth and digs his claws into the wound, wincing with every shriek and howl that falls from his sister’s throat. He digs out the bullet and drops it to the ground, lights the wolfsbane on fire, and packs it into the open wound.

Laura screams, back bowing, claws tearing at the dirt. She falls back to the ground, panting, heart racing as fur recedes, shifting to new, pink skin stained red with blood.

Derek collapses against a tree. He can’t breathe.

He scurries backwards when the fire crackles, sending up sparks. He covers his ears to shut out the sound of Kate laughing.

Laura is at his side at an instant, cupping his face in her hands. “Derek,” she says, and his heart beats jackrabbit quick, limbs tingling, vision going hazy at the edges. “Derek. Breathe,” she orders, and he watches her chest rise and fall until he can drag oxygen into his lungs.

He drops his head, staring at the ground, chest still too tight; he _hates_ this, hates feeling this weak.

“You are not weak,” Laura says as if reading his mind; it’s a distinct possibility at this juncture. She raises his chin so he can look into her eyes. “You’re strong. You’re a werewolf. You’re a Hale,” she says like that’s the most important thing in the world. Derek takes a deep breath and lets the sense of his pack settle deep into his bones.

Laura teaches Derek everything she knows - tactical maneuvers and hunting strategy, using all of his senses to optimum advantage. She trains him as their mother trained her, and Derek shakes his head, resisting.

“You’re not dying, Laura,” he says, teeth clenched. His claws dig into his palms as he turns his back. He was always meant to be a beta, protecting the pack, standing at his mother’s, and then his sister’s side. He wasn’t raised to be an alpha. He has no idea how to lead.

She squeezes his shoulder, and he stiffens, expecting an order that doesn’t come. “I’m not going anywhere, but you need to know all of this. Just in case.”

“Why don’t you just order me?” he snaps, on the edge of a shift. His teeth press at his lips, growing sharp.

“Because you don’t want me to.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“Derek,” she warns, and her voice carries the barest hint of power.

Derek takes a breath, forcing his fingers to unfurl, claws disappearing as he settles back in his own skin. “Okay,” he says. He presses further into her touch. “Okay.”

—

They continue across the country, coming down to New York through Buffalo. They travel on foot the entire way, following the sounds of the highway, shifting direction when they wander too close to another pack’s territory. Cars whiz past, mixing with the sound of the wind through the trees. The air smells clean and fresh. Snow falls softly, covering the woods in white.

They chase down rabbits and deer, claws and teeth tearing through muscle and flesh. Laura licks the blood from her muzzle, and Derek huffs, walking ahead of her, skidding across the snow when she nudges at his heels. She hunches down, eyes narrowing. Derek takes off running, boots grasping for purchase against the slippery ground, Laura hot on his heels. They used to play like this when they were younger, training exercises carefully disguised as a game of hide and seek or tag. He and Cora would poke and kick at Laura’s flanks until she tackled them to the ground, the three of them tumbling together.

Laura barrels into him from behind, and he rolls onto his back. She nudges at his neck, licking his face. He rubs a hand over his nose. She prances away and howls at the moon, her happiness bright and sweet.

She shifts back when they near the edge of the city, trees thinning into busy, suburban streets. They pass a black Camaro with a For Sale sign in the window. Laura drags her fingers through the snow on the hood, grinning as she leaves her scent behind.

Derek rolls his eyes.

The car belongs to an older gentleman, white hair peppering the gray at his temples. He leans on a cane, limping as he walks down the porch steps, and introduces himself as Vincent.

“It was a gift for my son,” he says, gesturing to the car with the thick scent of grief. “Don’t have much use for it now.”

Derek and Laura exchange a glance. “I’ll give you whatever you want for it,” she says, soft and reassuring in a way that Derek has never managed to master, but their mother was always so good at, too. She lets her fingers brush against the old man’s as they exchange cash for keys, veins going dark, then black. His brow furrows as his pain visibly recedes, but Laura simply asks about insurance and registration information. She gives him the address of their PO Box in Manhattan and takes the offered phone number, putting it into the hidden pocket of her backpack for safekeeping.

“You’re gonna have to dig yourself out,” Vincent says apologetically. “There are shovels in the garage.”

Laura gestures to Derek with her chin. “Make yourself useful.”

Derek snorts, grabbing the shovels and tossing one at Laura as he passes by. The two of them make quick work of the snow, slowing down when Vincent makes a comment that Laura has _quite the arm._

“Thought I heard howling last night,” Vincent says, and Derek very carefully keeps moving, grunting as he digs up the snow. “Sounded like a pack of wolves.”

“There aren’t any wolves in this area,” Derek says firmly. Vincent frowns but doesn’t comment further.

Laura grins into her shoulder.

The car smells of new leather and the chemical scent of fake evergreen. Laura wrinkles her nose, tossing the air freshener hanging on the rearview mirror into the trashcan next to the curb. She rubs herself against the seat.

Derek arches an eyebrow.

“Do you and the car need a moment alone?”

Laura flips him off, tossing her jacket and her bag into the backseat. She cranks the windows down. "I only did it to see that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That one." She scrunches up her nose, eyes crossing, lips pursed so Derek bursts out laughing. Laura’s eyes widen, pure, unbridled happiness piercing through her scent. Then, she’s laughing, too.

The smell of the wild fades quickly once they get onto the highway. Earth and snow and pine fades into car exhaust and smog and metal, the press of too many bodies in too small a space, hearts beating, people talking, laughing, crying, the thumping, deafening baseline of music played too loud.

Derek closes his eyes, senses on overdrive. He feels like he did when he was young, when Peter took him and Cora to the movies for the first time, everything too bright and too loud and overwhelming. Cora threw up in the aisle.

Laura grabs his hand, pressing his fingers against her wrist so he can feel the steady but quick _thump, thump, thump_ of her heart.

“Focus on me,” she murmurs. She squeezes his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

Laura finds them an apartment in Brooklyn, a five-story walk-up with a couch and several beat-up chairs left behind from the previous tenants. The view from their fifth-floor apartment alone is supposed to be worth the absolutely abhorrent price of the rent, and Derek stares out at the skyline, the stars in the clear sky blocked out by the bright, city lights. The full moon tugs on his bones, skin too tight, and his fangs descend in his mouth, face rippling as he lets the shift overtake him.

He digs deep furrows into the screen with his claws, growling at the musty scent of bleach, new carpet, and fresh paint, the next-door neighbors playing their TV too loud, the traffic beneath their window, the sound of stomping feet and children’s speeding heartbeats, everything too much, overpowering.

He drops to the floor with a whimper, clutching his hands around his ears. Laura grips his shoulder, and he pulls back against the wall, caged in from all sides.

“I know,” Laura says, going to her knees in front of him. She arches an eyebrow. “You better plan on replacing that screen.”

Derek nudges his head under her chin, pressing his face into her chest. He lets her heartbeat drown out the rest of the world.

—

Things don’t get much easier, but they do grow more tolerable. Laura reminds him of the exercises their mother took them through when they were children, when the hum of the world could be absolutely overpowering. _Focus on a single thing,_ she said, nails dragging across his scalp, _then try to spread your senses outwards._

Derek focuses on the trains roaring through the station, expanding his hearing to take in music blaring through a pair of headphones, a foot tapping against the ground. At home, he focuses on Laura’s heartbeat, on her fingers dragging through his hair just like their mothers’ used to.

There are more shifters than he was expecting in the big city, their smell a wild tang at the back of his throat. Acknowledgments are made with a brief glance across a crowded train platform, a subtle nod while passing in the street.

Derek paces the length of the apartment for the next three full moons. His claws squeak as he scrapes them across the wall.

“You scratch up the paint, and you’ll be the one explaining to the landlord why it looks like we let a mountain lion climb the walls,” Laura says from her spot at one of the stools at the kitchen counter. Derek bares his teeth.

She reaches out to one of the local packs after that, calling in a favor with one of the alphas that used to be acquainted with their mother. Kali eyes both of them with distaste. She and Laura engage in a stare-down that lasts a full minute, neither of them moving a muscle. Finally, Laura tilts her head back, displaying her throat in a graceful, practiced gesture that Derek remembers from his mother – not a sign of subservience, but of respect, a promise to do no harm.

Kali snorts, but she acknowledges Laura with a nod. “Stay away from the highways. The local kids like to get drunk in the woods and poke the animals with sticks, so go as deep as you can.” She smirks, a sly lift of her lips. “Howl if you get lost.”

“Pretty sure we can manage,” Laura says dryly, rolling her eyes when Kali turns around and shifts mid-jump.

“Come on,” Laura says, and she grins. “Let’s run.” She kicks off her shoes, dragging her shirt over her head. She shoves her clothes in the trunk of a hollowed-out oak tree, then lets the shift overtake her, arms and legs traded for a stronger, sleeker body.

Laura gives him a wolf-grin then bolts for the trees. Derek flicks out his claws, relishing the press of fangs in his mouth. The rush of the hunt skitters under Derek’s skin, through his veins, and he howls, the sound of Laura’s laughing bark making him run even faster.

—

They’re in New York a year before Laura brings up the idea of him going back to school.

She’s enrolled in college at NYU, was just finishing up her first year of pre-med before the fire. She has a steady job at a hospital in the city, one that allows her to arrange her schedule around full moons.

The months she can’t manage to get the night off, he drives upstate and runs alone, avoiding Kali and her pack. He spends the night snapping at rabbits and squirrels and finds Laura in bed when he gets home, curled up on top of the covers in her wolf skin, exhausted and cranky.

“I have a job,” Derek argues.

Laura huffs, rolling her eyes. “At the library. Conveniently located on the Columbia University campus.”

“I don’t even have my diploma.”

“We can fix that.” She grabs her computer with a grin, cracks her knuckles, wiggles her fingers, and begins to type. She’s gotten frighteningly good at this over the years. She learned how to hack into law enforcement websites within their first year on the run, downloading file after file after file about the fire. The case has long since gone cold, but she still obsesses sometimes, reviewing the same information over and over until Derek has to hide her laptop, disguising the scent of it with kitchen herbs or cleaning supplies.

The one time he stashes it in the back of his closet under their tiny stash of wolfsbane - taken from the bullets of Kate Argent’s stolen gun and kept in a well-sealed bag - Laura goes absolutely ballistic. She shifts in the middle of his bedroom and tackles him to the floor, eyes blazing, claws digging into his shoulders.

”You can’t keep doing this, Laura!” Derek shouts. Laura snarls in his face.

He doesn’t dare point out that she never orders him to give her computer back, doesn’t ever talk about these rare instances where she loses her control. It’s a fair trade, he figures - he still hasn’t told her about Kate.

Laura doctors a diploma from the last high school he attended, putting in a request for his actual transcripts from Beacon Hills High and the six other schools he went to before the shitshow in Virginia.

His hands clench around the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white. They haven’t heard a peep from the Argents in months, and while the peace is a welcome reprieve, both of them are on edge, waiting for the ax to fall.

He gets an admissions interview at Columbia, growing even more reserved when the counselor questions him about his transcripts.

“Military family?” he asks.

Derek shakes his head. “There was a fire,” he says quietly, and the confession burns in his throat as acutely as the phantom scent of smoke. “My family died. My sister and I were the only ones who survived, and we’ve been—“ _running from a homicidal band of batshit-crazy hunters led by my psycho ex-girlfriend,_ “—looking for work. We were finally able to settle down about a year ago.”

“See? I told you a sob story would work,” Laura says when his acceptance letter comes in the mail six weeks later. They offer him a partial scholarship and a tuition reduction, as long as Derek continues working at the library. She kisses his cheek, squeezing his shoulder. Derek re-reads the letter, letting her pride wash over him, surrounding him from all sides.

—

Once his education is settled, Laura sets about poking her nose into his love life.

He walks into the apartment after a truly long, exhausting day. Thursdays, he doesn’t exist. His classes start at nine and continue straight through until five, after which he drags himself to work. By the time he arrives home, it’s almost midnight.

Derek pauses in the walkway at the sound of groaning from one of the back rooms. He panics for all of two seconds before a male voice grunts out his sister’s name.

No. Nope. Not doing this. Not now, not tonight, not ever. Derek opens the front door and slams it shut again, loud enough that even the human in his sister’s bedroom would be able to hear the noise. He takes off his jacket and settles on the couch.

Ten minutes later, the bedroom door opens. A man emerges first. Derek vaguely recognizes him as one of Laura’s coworkers. Derek thinks his name is Brian.

Brian flushes when he sees Derek sitting in the living room, turning bright pink from his forehead to the base of his neck.

”Hey,” Brian croaks. Derek gives him a wave without looking up from his phone.

”Ignore him,” Laura says, shoving Brian out the door by his shoulder. Derek hears them kiss, then Brian is gone.

The door shuts. Laura drops onto the couch at Derek’s side and grins.

He wrinkles his nose at the scent of sex on her skin. “Go take a shower. You reek.”

“Oh, come on.” Laura jostles him with her shoulder. “Just because you aren’t indulging with anyone other than your right hand doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t want to get laid.”

Derek’s breath catches in his chest before he manages to regulate his breath. He hasn’t even been able to think about sex. Not since Kate.

“It’s the left hand, actually,” Derek says before Laura can ask him what’s wrong.

“Oh, gross!”

“Payback for forcing me to listen to you moaning.” He presses a hand to his chest, pitching his voice several octaves higher. “Oh, Brian! _Brian!_ ”

Laura pounces, rolling him off of the couch and to the floor.

—

He meets Alexis two years into his degree, in - of all things - his pottery class.

Unsurprisingly, he’s terrible, only taking the damn class because he needs the elective credit and it’s the only thing that fits into his schedule. The first week, he comes home covered in clay. Laura swallows her laughter until he shows her what’s supposed to be a bowl but looks more like a plate with warped sides.

She falls over herself cackling. Derek smears her face with clay.

“You are a terrible person,” he says, and Laura pouts, kissing the top of his head, still chuckling. He pokes her in the side.

Alexis comes to his rescue, showing him how to properly work the pottery wheel. She ties her hair away from her face and gets to work, biting back a grin when Derek completely fails at making a vase.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” she asks, brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughs.

Derek huffs. “Is it that obvious?”

She raises an eyebrow and grins. “Only if you’re paying attention.”

She kisses him outside of the library after class, barely giving him a minute to call out sick before she tugs him across the street to her dorm. She slides his jacket from his shoulders, kissing his jaw as she drags his shirt over his head.

“Ho-ly shit,” she says, eyes wide when she pushes him onto his back on the bed, “You’re like a fucking model. How are you even real?” Her lips twist up into a smirk and Derek doesn’t answer, just drags her down until he can kiss her again.

She rides him hard and fast, head tilted back to display the line of her throat, heart thudding faster and faster. Her hair falls around her shoulders in dark red curls, nails digging into his sides, and Derek has to close his eyes to shut out the images of Kate that immediately come barreling to mind.

He comes home stinking of sex and shame. Laura takes one look at him and winks.

“Go take a shower, you little sex monkey,” she says, trying to ruffle his hair. He ducks her hand.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until the water is running, forcing himself to breathe past his pulse racing in his chest. After, he crashes onto the couch and sleeps for the rest of the day, waking only when Laura gets back from her shift at the hospital. She frowns at him as she slips out of her jacket, but she doesn’t ask any questions.

It’s the first time he wishes she would.

—

He's running in Central Park when he meets Avery. Two days after the full moon, and Derek still feels wired with the heady rush of power under his skin. He has to remind himself to keep his pace slow and steady, to not take off and pass every person on the street.

A stranger keeps pace with him, easily meeting him stride for stride. He smells of sweat, musk, and the spicy-sweet scent of a werewolf overlaid with arousal. Derek keeps his gaze straight ahead. He stops at the Great Lawn, pausing long enough to pretend to catch his breath before flopping down in the grass. He's far enough into the park that if he closes his eyes, he can pretend he's not in the city, that he's still in the woods far away from here.

He doesn't move except to open his eyes, wary and cautious when the werewolf sits down at his side, sunglasses dark enough that Derek can’t see his eyes. His body is lithe, long, and muscled, brown hair curling around his ears.

“Fancy meeting someone like you here,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankle.

Derek can’t help but snort. “Does that opening ever work?”

“You’re talking to me, aren’t you?” He tugs his sunglasses down his nose, giving Derek a glance of blue eyes dancing beneath thick, arched brows. His eyes flicker, gold bleeding into the iris before fading away.

He rolls his eyes when Derek still doesn’t move, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m not going to bite, you know.” He winks. “Unless you want me to.”

Derek laughs outright, shaking his head. “Your pick up lines need work.”

“Baby, I’m an open book.” He grins, heartbeat honest and steady, but Derek has been fooled by a heartbeat before.

Derek takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets when they shake. Still, it’s… nice. To hold a conversation with someone that isn’t his sister who he can at least be somewhat honest with, to not have to pretend to be human. He’s forgotten what it’s like, being around other werewolves who can read every subtle shift in his scent and breathing patterns as well as he can read theirs.

When Avery stands up and holds out his hand, Derek lets himself be dragged to his feet.

He leads Derek back to his apartment, where he wastes zero time pretending they’re here for anything except sex. He presses Derek back against the door, kissing him soft but deep. His arms hem Derek in, sending his pulse racing for an entirely different reason. He spins until Avery is the one pressed against the wall.

He fucks Derek slow and sweet, the way Kate never wanted. Derek’s heart skips a beat.

Avery grips his hip, going still. He draws his hand down Derek’s face with a frown, careful to avoid his neck. “Hey. You okay?”

Derek nods. “Fine.”

Avery leans down to kiss the edge of his jaw, sharp teeth catching on his skin. “Whoever they were? They didn’t deserve you. And whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”

His words seep under Derek’s skin, and he kisses Avery until he stops thinking about anything but the taste of sweat and salt on their skin, his claws dragging down Avery’s spine, the sound of their hearts racing in their chests.

—

Derek graduates from pre-law with honors and his sister is so damn happy, she could burst. She practically vibrates out of her skin, tears welling in her eyes when Derek walks across the stage in his cap and gown.

Laura pays for a set of matching tattoos as her gift to him, a way to celebrate the close of one chapter of their lives and the opening of another.

She grimaces every time the tattoo artist shifts the needle against the inside of her bicep. The press of the tattoo gun against the skin of Derek’s back makes him itch between his shoulder blades, but he knows the worst is yet to come.

Laura removes the bandage from her arm when they get home. Derek grimaces as his skin repairs itself, knitting back together. He takes off his shirt, ripping the bandage off with it.

"Ready?" she asks, and Derek nods. “This is going to hurt like a bitch.”

“No shit. Just do it, Laura,” he snaps, gritting his teeth. His stomach twists into violent knots when he smells the blowtorch, and he turns his face away, pressing the material of his shirt up to his mouth to muffle his screams.

He tries to distract himself. ”Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?”

Laura huffs a laugh, hands trembling. ”Uh, excuse me, little brother, this was your idea.”

“I believe you are mistaken.”

“I believe you’re full of shit,” she says, and she presses the flame to his skin.

The fire burns against his back. He screams. One of Laura’s hands presses against the back of his neck, all of her weight holding him down.

She lets him go and presses the flame to her own flesh without pause. He jumps out of his seat to cover her mouth when she cries out. He almost yanks the blowtorch away when he smells the salt of tears.

A minute later, she flicks off the flame. She shoves Derek away.

“Get the hell off me,” she says, panting.

He isn’t faring much better, back stinging, still trying to catch his breath. “Fine. Next time, I’ll let you scream, and you can explain to the neighbors why it sounds like someone is getting murdered.”

She scoffs. “Please. As if I would ever get caught.”

She walks over to the closet outside of her bedroom. A full-length mirror hangs on the inside of the door. Derek turns, twisting his head around to get a look at his back. The skin is bright red and irritated, but the symbol there stands out in sharp, black ink.

"A triskelion." Laura looks at her arm, at the matching tattoo on her own skin. She tilts her head to the side and gives him a smile. "It suits us."

Maybe they’ll be okay after all.

—

The email comes in at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning.

One of the fire marshalls from Beacon Hills says he has further information about the fire, something they didn’t know before. He asks to see Laura in person to investigate. Something is tugging her towards Beacon Hills, Laura says, pulling her towards California like the full moon pulls at their bones.

Derek begs her not to go, pleading even while she packs her bags. “We already know it was the Argents,” he says, getting in her path as she heads for the front door. “Just... leave it alone. Please.”

Laura kisses his forehead and pushes past him into the hall.

Derek grabs her shoulder, yanking her back. “Then take me with you. Please, Laura.”

His sister takes a breath. She cups his chin in her hand. “Stay. Here,” she says, and Derek tries to fight the order, stomach swooping, fists clenching, body shaking until he finally takes a step back into the apartment and away from her hand.

She smells of regret, bitter on the back of his tongue. “I’m taking the car,” she says, twirling the keys around her finger. She swallows, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Derek clings to her with all of his might. “I’ll be back soon, Derek,” she whispers against his ear. “I promise.”

Derek watches until she disappears down the stairs, ignoring the absolute terror settling into the pit of his stomach.

Laura keeps in contact as often as she can, never staying on the phone for long. She’s on to something important, but she won’t say more until she has more information.

He’s in the middle of the street when the ground drops out from under his feet, stomach heaving so violently, he throws up in the gutter. He bolts for his apartment, ignoring the people calling at his back, asking if he’s okay.

He heads straight to Laura’s room, locking the door and trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light.

“Laura,” he gasps, claws digging into his scalp as he grabs his head, searching for the bond between him and his alpha, his pack, his sister - the one that’s broken, frayed at the edges, nothing but a dark, empty void on the other end.

He grips the edge of her dresser so hard, the wood breaks away, turning to powder under his fingers. He’s terrified to look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to see red eyes, doesn’t want to be the alpha, not if it means Laura is dead.

Somehow, he finds the strength to lift his head.

His eyes glow blue in the dark.


End file.
